The pages had to reload. They timed out. I went to link the song and the theme of this day. I got the following message:

An error occurred. Please try again later.

And maybe it had a bit. Maybe it was a sign to return to it later. Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

We have plans for this weekend that were made in advance. They may not happen. It may be another day of quiet… or it could be another day with a phone call at an early hour… because you want to tell me how you feel.

Fridays aren’t the only days one can fall in love. Because when you arrived…

Because when you disappeared.

Because when you reappeared.

Because…

Because…

Because…

An error occurred. Please try again later.

And I’m sorry. I know I’m part of the reason that did.

Well… fuck you too damnit. I wish later were now… but the best things come with a fight… and sometimes it takes a couple before we finally get it right.

A new outfit fit for snobbery and a hankering for espresso brought me in that morning. Not because I needed it, but because I wanted it.

There are days when I simply haven’t put much effort into getting dressed. The office I work in has a very lax dress code policy. It seems that no one dresses up here. Dressing up has less appeal here. No one notices and we have so few walk in clients, it tends to get wasted on dry cold air.

On a rough day I will frequently take a few minutes and sneak outside for a break to people watch. Growing up, working downtown amongst the suited corporate elite was a dream. Now, the dream doesn’t exactly match the reality. It’s funny how that happens.

Most days when I go in I give a fake name. But something about that day was different. Something in the air made me reject the notion of yet another coffee ring with “Sylvie” “Abby” “Rin” or whatever acronym caught my fancy. It was a strange feeling of inner complacency. Maybe the therapy really is working.

“What’s the name on this?”

“Jen.”

While somedays it’s good to be someone else, damn does it feel good to be everyday.

Scene: a kitchen in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

“Please don’t kill me.” I sent to him along with a picture of my confirmed flight.

He made no promises.

“What the hell am I thinking? I just met him a week ago.” I said to my friend who had brought me out to happy hour to catch up on the post holiday news.

“Have fun. It’s an adventure.”

And it was going to be. I was nervous and excited and nervous and excited and…

I felt the rush inside of me as I clicked confirm for the flight. He’d asked me the day after I met him… before we parted ways on our buses after that amazing first date.

I had no clue what to expect except to have zero expectations. I already adored this man. Would the trip solidify that even more? Or would I fuck things up?

I was nervous and excited. I knew before I even opened the browser to check on flights that I would get people telling me I was crazy to even consider it let alone do it. But great rewards come from great risks. Like that first message. Like the ones that followed. Like every day you wake up and get out of bed.

I’d made the decision to myself that this was the year I stopped holding myself back. I’ve had moments where I’ve stepped away from believing that. I’m working on making them less common. And every day I’ve felt a little bit stronger. Every day I’ve felt amazing.

What would happen in Vegas, I didn’t know.

“Have fun. It’s an adventure.”

Every damn day is an adventure. Don’t hold yourself back from experiencing every last bit of it.

Scene: a messy studio in a loft in the Brewery Artist Colony, Lincoln Heights

“I’m a mess Mo.”

“I know you are. We’ve been through this.”

“I don’t understand why he went crazy. They all go fucking crazy.”

“Jena you need to get right with yourself before you’re going to meet anyone else right with themselves.”

“What’s so wrong with me?”

I was a disgusting mess.

A pitiful

disgusting

mess.

My best friend of years had heard this before. It had been a pattern: amazing off the charts romance, then plummeting drop into nothing. It used to bother me. Then something changed. Perhaps Mo was right in what he told me that day. Perhaps I was too.

“You need to lock yourself in a room and have a conversation with yourself. Don’t leave until you can.”

“That’s going to suck dude.”

“I know. I’ve been through it. But I’m telling you- you’re never going to get past it until you do that.”

You could cut the silence like a thick fog. He walked upstairs to his room. I picked up my keys and grabbed my purse. I don’t know why he holds back so much. I don’t know why I do either. But he’s right. I’m right. And maybe that’s why I was attracted to him in the first place.

From one magician to another- it’s difficult living in both worlds magical and real sometimes.

Ah the morning routine. It’s comfortable. It’s quiet. It’s fun dancing down the streets of downtown and never knowing who or what you will encounter. But I’ll tell you a secret that’s not really much of a secret- you might encounter something wonderfully fantastic if you time it just right.

My place with the suited gent is just a few blocks around the corner from work. On the way, however, are more than a handful of historical buildings that… well let’s just say I have a relationship with.

On the side entrance to what was the Los Angeles Theatre is a dead ended alleyway. It is a favorite place for dozens of pigeons every single morning. And every single morning I do the same thing. This one, I happened to get caught.

I put “Eye of the Tiger” on as I rounded the corner coming up to it. I was channeling my inner panther. The words from a Three Stooges show echoed in my mind:

“Step by step. Inch by inch!”

I looked over from my lifted camera phone to my left to see that people in the building right before the alleyway were watching me.

I held up one finger to my lips and continued my mission. Moments later, a flurry of birds went in the air. I ducked and looked over to see the people still watching me. I pointed at the sky.

“I know what you two did. I heard it. I don’t appreciate it happening. I told you I didn’t want it happening when I was home.”

I was a doe in headlights. Yes, we had done the deed but it was when we specifically thought she had been gone. We felt bad about it. We felt great about it. He and I were both in the moment. It caught us and swept us away. I couldn’t help but think that whatever it was was a serendipitous intersection to say the least. What if this was the last chance I had before he moved to New Orleans? What if I was never going to see him again?

I apologized emphatically to her and texted the suited gent.

“Shit. She just called me.”

“I know. You and I are stopping all together.”

My heart sank. I didn’t want to be in the space. I had to go home. To the one place in Los Angeles that rang home the most- with my friends at the Brewery.

The day had been one full of nukes. I had been so close to the prize but it just wasn’t going to happen that day. Things had been heating up with the motherfucker. I lost a contract. So what more logical of an escape than to meet with a seemingly out of my league handsome artist gent from the interweb?

He’d popped up on my radar not too long before that. At the time, I didn’t know where things were headed with the motherfucker. I told him what happened after I’d left work that day. He didn’t care.

“Have fun having sex with him.” he told me.

I thought it was a trap. It probably was. Nonetheless I proceeded anyway. I needed the escape after all. I deserved it.

Didn’t I?

I arrived to a very tall well dressed extremely fashionable gent clad in a suit and spiked coiffure with an entourage of other well dressed gals and gents. This is a very casual bar. I began to feel a bit under dressed compared to the last time I had come here with friends. I was out of my element. I didn’t know anyone tonight. Anyone but him now.

We played a few rounds of ping pong. I got myself a beer. I chatted a bit in casual conversation with the group.

“The bar is closing. It’s last call.”

It was unexpected and short. I’d barely had any time with him, let alone in private.

“Did you want to go somewhere else?” he asked me.

“Sure. Where should we go?”

“Wurstkuche. It’s not far.”

“Alright, I can drive.” I replied.

It was at this point when we were walking around the corner to my car that I noticed the skateboard in his hand.

“You don’t drive do you?”

“No. I work downtown and in the artist district. It’s not hard getting around.”

I drove us to our next stop in the crawl. This wonderful bar in the Artist District amasses a great bevvy of alcoholic bliss including my absolute favorite- Alagash White.

I looked at their list of pulls. He knew immediately what he wanted and so did I.

“Alagash White please.”

“What is that?” he said as he ordered his PBR.

“It’s delicious. It’s a meal compared to that.”

“Would you like a pint or a stein miss?” the bartender asked me.

I’d just lost my contract and was now at the second bar of the evening with an artist who looks wise appeared out of my league. I didn’t have anywhere to go in the morning. So what was there to hold me back? The nukes of the day completely disappeared. I was brimming over when I answered.

It had been some nice conversation. Decisions and things in the future. A luxury shared space in South Park or my own place in the historic core of Los Angeles, walking distance from work.

“There’s a lot over there. I never go over there because I don’t want to pay for parking. It’s more convenient. You wouldn’t have to worry about food. There’s grocerry stores and restaurants. Lowry’s is over there.”

“The seasoned salt?”

“Yes but it’s a restaurant. They became famous here in LA. Best prime rib in the city.”

“Hmm I’ve never been. Maybe you’ll visit me and we’ll go?”

“Yeah. It’s something to think about. I’m going to take a shower now though.”

He got up and I stretched my arms out for a hug. It was stupid and cheesy but there it was.”

He pointed to his room where one of his friends was napping and joined his fingers. He pointed to me and then separated them again. He drops everything for her. Is she really his best friend or is she more?

“Derby tonight?”

“Maybe.”

We’d been planning it for weeks. I’d already bought his ticket. I washed my hands of it.

“I’m taking a trip to New Orleans.” I told him as he handed me my regular brew.

“Where? What district?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Well what hotel are you going to be staying at?”

“Another one I’m not sure about. I’m thinking about visiting friends.. and maybe him. Where should I go?”

He retreated to another side of the bar and helped someone else only to return a few moments later with a pen and a piece of paper.

“Here. Also write down Elizabeth’s, Frady’s and Stella’s.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. When are you going?”

“Not until next year.”

He walked away again. I looked at my phone to check the time. My friend should be here any minute. In my messenger bag there are multiple notebooks currently. Each one of them has its own series of stories. I got the two books at the same time- on that Strawberry Sunday. One was to be professional and the other was to be creative. Corporate and creative have met many times. With one of my moves, the red notebook became stashed in a bin. I had no clue where it had gone… until I’d found it this weekend.

“I want to show you something.” I told him as I pointed to a page in the red notebook. A section of it had been devoted to journal pieces written this summer.

“What is it?”

“Read the top line.”

He grabbed the book and began to thumb through it.

We laughed and talked some more. He gave me the book back.

“This book is about you.” I told him.

“No it’s not. It’s about you.”

He walked away as a text came in. I drank my beer and thought about things some more. About how honest the pages in that red notebook were. About it’s initial purpose being an art piece. About how it’s evolved.

On the front of this cover is an emblem stamp. Looking closer you can see that it is two people kissing. It is a tale that may never grace the inside of that notebook.

This is not a love story but it is a story I write about the life that I love.